I can’t believe it’s been over a month already! I apologise for not writing sooner but I’ve been incredibly busy signing autographs, responding to fan mail and walking on water. Only joking, no-one sends fan mail these days do they?
In all seriousness, it’s been a good start and some of you have been asking why it took so long for me to sign the contract. Well, I was actually prepared to sign it straight away – I had the pen and everything. But Mr Martin said he had to nip back to his office as his secretary had told him the hard copy was ready to print.
He said he’d be five minutes but half-an-hour later he was still in the office. No idea what he was up to. Trouble was, I was dying for a number two. I couldn’t find a loo anywhere so I resorted to racing outside. I wanted to get as far away as I could for dignity and all that and found myself in the South Upper. I settled for the south-west gents, the one where the door handle is almost begging to be snapped.
I thought I’d got away with it but during mid-poo I heard the door slam shut. Er, hello? I tapped softly on the door but there was no-one around. I thought I heard some happy whistling and someone mumbling in a northern accent but I must have imagined it.
Anyway, 24 hours later and still no-one around. I stretched and suddenly felt a bulge. It was my bloody phone! Trapped in the bog and I didn’t even think of calling anyone. I glanced – 98 missed calls! All from Mr Martin apart from one, which I assume was from the missus; I can never remember her number.
Anyway, priorities. I called Mr Martin. Chris, he shouted, where are you? I thought you’d done a runner! Well, my stomach did feel a bit dodgy yesterday. You’re a lucky man, Mr Martin said. I just heard Phil Brown on Radio Whatever say our deal had fallen through and that we were pursuing Steve Evans. Really?, I responded. Well, no, it’s rubbish, Mr Martin said, but Phil, who I have to say has been very helpful since I sacked him, told me that Evans would be a very popular choice as the fans would love him. So I was five minutes away from contacting him. Now please sign the contract. I obliged. And that was that. Phew.
I bumped into a fan outside. C-c-c-chris? Please tell me you signed, he said. Yeah, mate, I replied. There was a cheer and about 100 people mobbed me. Actually it was just him and his son but I like to fantasise. Thank god, the dad said. I heard Browny on the radio. Steve Evans? Steve Evans? He’s a total ******* ****!
So here’s a lesson, people. If we have a bad spell with me as manager, just be careful what you wish for. Two words: Steve ******* Evans. Now let’s catch up…
In all seriousness, it’s been a good start and some of you have been asking why it took so long for me to sign the contract. Well, I was actually prepared to sign it straight away – I had the pen and everything. But Mr Martin said he had to nip back to his office as his secretary had told him the hard copy was ready to print.
He said he’d be five minutes but half-an-hour later he was still in the office. No idea what he was up to. Trouble was, I was dying for a number two. I couldn’t find a loo anywhere so I resorted to racing outside. I wanted to get as far away as I could for dignity and all that and found myself in the South Upper. I settled for the south-west gents, the one where the door handle is almost begging to be snapped.
I thought I’d got away with it but during mid-poo I heard the door slam shut. Er, hello? I tapped softly on the door but there was no-one around. I thought I heard some happy whistling and someone mumbling in a northern accent but I must have imagined it.
Anyway, 24 hours later and still no-one around. I stretched and suddenly felt a bulge. It was my bloody phone! Trapped in the bog and I didn’t even think of calling anyone. I glanced – 98 missed calls! All from Mr Martin apart from one, which I assume was from the missus; I can never remember her number.
Anyway, priorities. I called Mr Martin. Chris, he shouted, where are you? I thought you’d done a runner! Well, my stomach did feel a bit dodgy yesterday. You’re a lucky man, Mr Martin said. I just heard Phil Brown on Radio Whatever say our deal had fallen through and that we were pursuing Steve Evans. Really?, I responded. Well, no, it’s rubbish, Mr Martin said, but Phil, who I have to say has been very helpful since I sacked him, told me that Evans would be a very popular choice as the fans would love him. So I was five minutes away from contacting him. Now please sign the contract. I obliged. And that was that. Phew.
I bumped into a fan outside. C-c-c-chris? Please tell me you signed, he said. Yeah, mate, I replied. There was a cheer and about 100 people mobbed me. Actually it was just him and his son but I like to fantasise. Thank god, the dad said. I heard Browny on the radio. Steve Evans? Steve Evans? He’s a total ******* ****!
So here’s a lesson, people. If we have a bad spell with me as manager, just be careful what you wish for. Two words: Steve ******* Evans. Now let’s catch up…
Last edited: